The door to her room was, unusually, unlocked. She knew the old lady always locked it during the night. Maybe, as it was day time, she had forgotten. ...uietly, she made her way down the stairs and to the study.The memoirs were there, as was the typewriter. Undisturbed since she had been ill.She sat at the desk, pushing the typewriter to one side, and picked up the first few sheets of hand written paper.Even as she read it, she could once again feel the sense that she had done all of this. I want it. I want to be here with you. I recognize that it doesn't matter how much I want it, that won't have anything to do with the faculty decision."She stood and hugged him. "I felt so positive when you applied that I more or less assumed that you would get it. I mean, why wouldn't they hire you? You're the best." I appreciate your confidence, but I know the others. They could let us draw straws for the job and not go wrong. We each have strengths and good records."Reality intruded on. More

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